Barely There
by serenbach
Summary: After seeing the results of Hawke and Isabela's shopping trip, a jealous Fenris decides that it is past time to reconcile with Hawke. F!Hawke/Fenris, kmeme fill. Complete.


_Going through some old prompts on my laptop I came across this kmeme one which I am quite fond of: So Isabela decides to take her best friend lingerie shopping. Isabela ends up back at the Hanged Man and decides to play Devils Advocate and starts pulling out her stuff and in front of the men starts saying... and Hawke bought this in red or whatnot. She's tired of all the mooning over each other between Hawke and Fenris after their one night._

_Fenris is very possessive. He start stewing and getting all hot & bothered wondering who Hawke is buying all this lingerie for & picturing her in them. He can't take it anymore and confronts her. Whether or not Hawke actually bought any of the lingerie is up to A!A. Would love a sexy smutty ending!_

_So, here it is!_

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><p><em><strong>Barely There.<strong>_

It didn't exactly surprise Fenris to see Isabela saunter into the Hanged Man with a slack-jawed, drooling young man in her wake, but it was unusual for that young man to be carrying a stack of boxes and bags.

"Just put them here, sweet thing," she declared, pointing at the middle of their table and forcing them all to move their drinks out of the way before they were spilt. She only smiled widely at their various grumbles. "Thank-you, precious."

She patted him on the cheek before draping herself over a stool. After a moment, the man realised that he wasn't going to get a tip - or anything else - and left in a disgruntled huff.

"Not nice, Rivaini," Varric commented with a laugh. "What have you got there?"

"I've been shopping," she informed them. "With Hawke."

Fenris twitched at the mention of Hawke's name. It had been three years since their one night together, and not a day had passed since then without him remembering the way she tasted and sound and felt, and regretting that he had left her. For three years, he had worn her token around his wrist and had been reassured by the hopeful glances she sent it whenever she thought he wasn't looking.

But lately those hopeful glances had come less and less until they had stopped all together, and Fenris couldn't help but worry that he had hesitated too long, and she'd grown tired of waiting for him. Even though his former master was dead and he no longer had any reason to fear pursuit or recapture, he was still acutely aware of how little he had to offer her, and that had made him hesitate to speak as he should.

"Of course," Varric replied to Isabela, breaking into his thoughts. "She has that party tonight, doesn't she?"

Those noble gatherings she had to attend were the bane of her life - and his. The thought of her dressing up and dancing with those young noblemen, their hands _touching _her… he growled a little and shook his head, dispelling the image.

"You should have seen what she was going to wear!" Isabela declared in horror. "I told her that just because she wears those shapeless tents she calls robes during the day doesn't mean she has to wear them in the evening, too."

Fenris frowned at her a little. He didn't think her robes were shapeless, the opposite, in fact. They weren't revealing, but they did nothing to hide the outline and curves of her body. Just walking behind her could make him sweat, even on the coldest of days. It had disturbed him at first, his attraction to a mage, but he soon came to realise that Hawke was Hawke, different from anyone else he had ever known, mage or not.

"What did you get, Isabela?" Merrill asked, looking curiously at the pirate's shopping.

She grinned as she held up the first item out of the box for them all to admire. It was a tiny pair of woman's undergarments, made of silk so sheer it was almost not worth wearing. Fenris rolled his eyes and picked up his glass of wine while Varric laughed.

"I didn't think you bothered with those," Aveline commented with a raised eyebrow.

"They're very pretty, but they look awfully uncomfortable," Merrill observed.

"That's what Hawke said before she tried them on," Isabela told her, and Fenris choked on his wine. He missed the sly look that Varric and Isabela exchanged as he recovered.

Imagining Hawke in those - the silk shimmering against her pale skin, the material so delicate that he could tear them straight from her body - was enough to start his heart hammering.

"But if they're not comfy, why would Hawke want to wear them?" Merrill asked, and Fenris wanted to throttle her more than he usually did. The last thing he needed was to take part in a discussion about Hawke's underwear.

"Kitten, you only wear these for the fun of taking them off," Isabela told her, and the thought brought Fenris up cold. Had Hawke… was she with someone else?

"Who's taking Hawke to this party, then?" Varric asked, as if reading his thoughts. "Bran's boy again?"

"No," Isabela replied, rummaging through her purchases again. "She was tired of his boring conversation and grabby hands." Fenris felt himself growling again, thinking of that pampered boy touching her with hands that had never known a day's hardship or suffering or want. "And so like the prince he is, Sebastian gallantly came to her rescue."

"Choirboy's taking her?" Varric asked, a gleam in his eye. He'd obviously already thought of some story already. The Prince and the Champion, Fenris thought gloomily. It had more of a ring to it than The Ex-Elven Slave and the Champion.

"He is," Isabela confirmed. "Let's see if his vow of chastity stands up to _these!" _She pulled out a tinier pair than the first - made of nothing more than a triangle of lace and three threads. "Hawke bought one just like this," she continued with an arch little smile, "except for in a lovely shade of green. And a matching breastband, of course," she added, waving it around to make sure they could all see. "Hers has a little more _boning_, though, since she needs the help."

Fenris swallowed hard, thinking of Hawke in that scrap of green lace, her breasts displayed like a gift to be unwrapped. Perfect, no matter what the pirate said, fitting exactly into the palm of his hands…

"I made sure to stop by the Chantry and show Sebastian, too," Isabela continued, purring like a satisfied cat. "I wanted to make sure they wouldn't be wasted."

The pounding of Fenris' heart was suddenly all he could hear. It was bad enough picturing Hawke fending off some faceless noble brat, but Sebastian, his friend, her _date, _who knew almost exactly what she would be wearing under her dress…

No. He pushed his stool back with a screech, and stood up, stalking towards the door without a word.

"Hey Broody, where're you going?" Varric called after him, laughter in his voice.

"As if we didn't know?" Isabela chimed in triumphantly, but he ignored them. He had a Champion to find.

Sometimes, Hawke had to admit, Isabela really got it right.

She'd just spent more on underwear than it had cost to feed her whole family for a month when they had been living in Lowtown, and she didn't regret it. She felt for the first time in years, truly, honestly pretty.

She didn't have much time to reflect on her looks, really. Most of the time, she was covered in blood and grime, her hair tangled and sweaty from exertion. When she did dress up for these noble parties, she did so out of a sense of duty rather than pleasure, and didn't dedicate much thought to it. She had lost any fun she had found in wearing fine clothes, putting on make-up and styling her hair after her mother had died. Getting ready alone just wasn't the same.

Isabela had just happened to stop by when she was giving Orana her perfectly functional black dress to press, almost fainted from sheer horror at its dowdiness, and dragged her out shopping. The pirate had convinced her to spoil herself for a change, and Hawke was truly happy with the result.

Between them, they had managed to tame her thick, stubborn hair into curls and pile them on top of her head in a style that looked effortless but had actually taken hours. She wore more make-up than usual, making her eyes look sensual and mysterious, and her lips markedly plumper. Her dress was deep green and silver; a style that showed off her shoulders and collarbone, fitted snugly to the waist before flowing out in oceans of cloth. She wore boots with high enough heels to give her hips enough sway to rival Isabela, much to the pirate's satisfaction.

And beneath her dress she wore her secret, lacy indulgence. It didn't matter, Isabela had told her, that no-one else knew what her undergarments looked like. She knew, and it would give her a boost to her confidence and make her feel special. So far, it was working.

Besides, there was only one person who she would want to see her in her underwear, and he had spent the last three years making sure that there would never be another opportunity for that to happen. All she had been able to do was hope that things would change, especially after they had permanently ensured his freedom by killing Danarius, but nothing had. Perhaps he didn't want it to. After all, he could go wherever he wanted now, do whatever he liked. She didn't have to be part of it.

That hadn't stopped her from choosing underwear because it was the same colour as his eyes, though. How long did you have to pine over someone before it became pathetic? She feared she was already there.

She heard the barking that signalled that someone had knocked at the door, and pushed those thoughts determinedly away. After glancing one last time at the mirror to recapture her confidence, she left to meet Sebastian. It had been sweet of him to offer to take her. After all, his re-dedication to the Chantry meant that he had left this part of his old life behind him for good. But he had listened to her complain about each of her escorts, and knew just as well as she did that if she turned up to one of these parties alone, she would be swamped by fortune-seeking sons and their eager mothers willing to deal with her magic if it meant tying their family to the Champion.

And so Sebastian had offered to take her as a favour from a friend. He knew what to expect from these gatherings, knew how to survive them, and most importantly, wouldn't try to grope her in the carriage on the way home.

She reached the stairs, and faltered in surprise. It wasn't Sebastian waiting for her, but Fenris. And any surprise she felt at seeing him was reflected ten times over in his face. She had the very gratifying experience of seeing his mouth fall open as he stared at her. His gaze burned its way down from her curly head to her booted toes, and she somehow received the impression he could see right the way beneath her dress. It wasn't unpleasant. It had been so long since he had looked at her like that, with hunger, with longing, but without the uncertainty of their first night, that it made her skin prickle.

"Fenris," she said, a little breathily. All the nights she'd spent hoping he would come over, and he'd picked this one? Typical. "I'm afraid I have an engagement this evening."

"No," he disagreed bluntly. "You don't." And before she could point out that actually, she did, he had crossed the hall to the bottom of the stairs where she was standing, pulled her into his arms and crushed her mouth to his.

Any protest she could have made, about Sebastian, the party, or the fact that it had taken _three damn years _for him to do this, was lost in the heady rush of the much-missed sensation of his lips brushing against hers. She let out an embarrassingly loud moan of surrender before tangling her fingers in his hair and holding on tight. If he tried to leave now, he would just end up scalping himself.

He moulded his hands against her backside and lifted her so she could wrap her legs around his waist, and started to make the precarious journey up the stairs. She'd kicked off both shoes before they reached the top (and she didn't even care that they would likely become very expensive mabari chew toys before she could reclaim them), and her artfully styled hair had tumbled loose around her shoulders.

Fenris' eyes looked a little wild, and fiercely, ferociously possessive with it as they reached her room, but instead of frightening her, it made her feel light-headed with desire and she reached out for him as soon as he dropped her lightly on her bed. He came to her without hesitation, kissing her mouth, her jaw and neck as his hands went straight to the fastenings of her dress. She would have laughed, if she'd had the breath.

He tugged the dress off her in one swift movement, and stared at her as his chest heaved. Her cheeks heated a little at the intensity of his gaze, but she couldn't help but be thrilled to see just how much he wanted her. She arched her back a little, letting the lacy cups do their job of lifting and displaying her breasts, knowing that the material was too thin to hide the fact that her nipples had hardened as soon as he had set eyes on her bare flesh.

"And who," he asked softly, "Are you wearing that for?" His voice was rough with jealousy and anger and passion, and perhaps she should be afraid, but she knew he would never hurt her. Perhaps she should be angry, but she had felt all those things too in the last three years.

"I'm wearing them for me," she told him softly. "Because they match your eyes."

Fenris made a noise in his chest, too low and rumbling for her to be sure if it was groan or a growl, before he had her lying flat on the bed, covering her with his body. As nice as his leather felt against her skin, she wanted to scream in frustration because it was keeping her from touching him. She moaned and thrashed as she felt his lips and teeth against her throat. She could hear him mumbling something under his breath, firstly in Arcanum, then in Common.

"Mine," he breathed against her ear, his teeth nipping the lobe. "Only mine now."

It was an order. She liked it. "I've always been yours," she managed to gasp out, digging her fingers into the bare skin of his neck. He pulled back to meet her eyes, long enough to realise she was being truthful. There was a softening in his expression and suddenly they couldn't be naked fast enough.

Three years was just far too long to wait, and they lay tangled together afterwards, sweaty and content, for a long moment.

He kissed her clumsily on the corner of her mouth, something that made her heart ache with sweetness, before he detangled himself enough that he wasn't squashing her.

"I hope," she panted, "that Sebastian didn't catch any of that."

Fenris shifted slightly, a little guiltily, a little smugly. "I met him at the door. I told him to go home."

Hawke couldn't help but laugh. "Sure of yourself, weren't you?"

"No," Fenris replied, quiet and serious. Her laughed faded, and she kissed him slow and deep, long enough to start healing the leftover insecurities she knew they both had.

"Are you staying?" she asked when she broke away, pretty sure of the answer but not able to stop herself from asking the question.

"As long as you'll let me," the answer was immediate, and solemn. A vow. "I know we never talked about what happened last time, but…"

"We can do that in the morning," she decided, before leaning over and kissing him again.

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><p><em>Edited to fit with the new guidelines. PM me for a link for the unedited version!<em>


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